


Safe Haven

by Whedonista93



Series: Eastwatch Haven [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, F/M, Family, Protective Tormund Giantsbane, Restoration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:08:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24642247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: Sansa hadn't liked Tormund when she first met him. Jon brought the other man home with him on spring break his sophomore year of college and he reminded Sansa of nothing so much as the Wildlings of old. At 20, he was loud, brash, and crass. And at 16, I-want-to-be-a-princess-Sansa was appalled by him. That disgust waned as she realized how kind hearted he was, and vanished altogether by the time Jon brought him home again that summer break. In fact, Tormund became her hero that summer.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Talisa Maegyr/Robb Stark, Tormund Giantsbane/Sansa Stark
Series: Eastwatch Haven [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958896
Comments: 28
Kudos: 157





	1. Leave

Jon waves a hand in front of his cousin's face. "San."

She blinks, finally focusing on him. At his bemused expression, she winces. "Sorry. Have you been trying to get my attention long?"

"Long enough," he says gently. He reaches across the table and takes one of her hands. "San, you've gotta leave."

She frowns. "He wins if I leave."

Jon shakes his head. "No, he doesn't. You won when you left him. You won when you turned him in. But you have to get out of King's Landing, at least for a while."

Sansa blinks away tears.

Jon squeezes her hand. "You're going the right direction, but if you don't let yourself heal, he still wins. And you don't have time to heal if you're still seeing his face everywhere."

"I don't have anywhere else to go," she whispers.

"North."

She shakes her head vehemently.

"I didn't mean WInterfell, San. Thought you might want to stay at Eastwatch for a while."

Sansa smiles, despite herself. "He really doesn't mind?"

Jon shakes his head. "Won't even be home the next few weeks; he’s out past the Wall on a dig. And there's plenty of space besides."

Sansa nods hesitantly. "Okay."

Jon releases her hand and pulls out his key ring.

Sansa bites her lip. "How am I going to get up there?"

Jon hands her the keys to his truck. "Take my truck, that way you can take Lady with you. I can take the train to work."

Sansa blinks away a fresh wave of tears. "Thank you, Jon."

Sansa loves Jon's old black 70's Chevy even more than she loves her own happy little yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Unlike her Beetle, Jon's old beast can candle the sometimes treacherous roads of the North, and Lady fits in the cab with her. She takes the long way up to Eastwatch, avoiding Winterfell and enjoying the drive. The tension she's been holding drains out of her so fast she nearly veers off the road as the gates of Eastwatch come into view. She rights the truck and apologizes to Lady, then manages to get through the gates and shut the truck off before she lets the torrent of tears loose. By the time she collects herself enough to go inside, she's so exhausted she barely has the presence of mind to key off the alarm before collapsing face first into the couch.

Sansa comes to slowly, blinking blearily at the light streaming through the nearest window before collecting herself enough to sit up, trying to get her bearings. When she looks around and remembers where she is, she snuggles back against the back of the couch with a smile and closes her eyes, breathing in the scent of smoke and pine that seems to permeate from the very stones of the walls. Much like it's owner, Eastgate is unapologetically northern. They worked hard to restore the castle to its former glory, down to the hand-hewn dark stones and smooth wood beams.

Sansa hadn't liked Tormund when she first met him. Jon brought the other man home with him on spring break his sophomore year of college and he reminded Sansa of nothing so much as the Wildlings of old. At 20, he was loud, brash, and crass. And at 16, I-want-to-be-a-princess-Sansa was appalled by him. That disgust waned as she realized how kind hearted he was, and vanished altogether by the time Jon brought him home again that summer break. In fact, Tormund became her hero that summer.


	2. Flashback

_ Tormund glances down at Jon’s buzzing phone and sees Sansa’s smiling face looking back at him. He glances down the hall, sees the bathroom door Jon had closed just seconds ago and decides he may as well answer the damn thing. “Small-dicked bastard’s phone.” _

_ “T-Tormund?” _

_ At the sound of Sansa’s shaking voice, Tormund drops his feet off the chair they’d been kicked up on and sits up straight. “Aye, lass.” _

_ “Where’s Jon?” _

_ “Takin’ a shit, most like. What’s wrong?” _

_ Sansa whimpers. “I feel funny… I only had one drink. I didn’t even finish it. Joff… gods, he won’t quit banging on the door.” _

_ “Sansa, where are you?” _

_ “Um… in Winter Town… the street behind the courthouse.” _

_ “Stay right where you are, lass,” Tormund snatches Jon’s keys up off the table and nearly runs out the door. “Keep talking to me, San.” _

_ “About what?” _

_ “Anything. Just wanna hear your pretty voice.” _

_ “I didn’t want to come to this party,” she blurts. _

_ “Why’d ya go, then?” He asks as he barrels Jon’s truck down the long drive of Winterfell. _

_ “Joff wanted to.” _

_ “Ya don’t have to do everything that little prick wants you to.” _

_ “He scares me,” she admits quietly. _

_ Tormund curses and hits the steering wheel. Banging in the background of the call catches his attention. “Sansa, what’s going on?” _

_ “I’m hiding in the bathroom. He won’t stop banging in the door… my head feels like it’s underwater.” _

_ Tormund presses harder on the gas. “Is the door locked?” _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “Good girl. Stay there, I’m coming.” _

_ “What if he gets in before you get here? He said… oh, he’s saying he’s going to do awful things.” _

_ Tormund curses again. “You listen to me, lass. Are you listening?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “If he gets in there before I do, you kick him in that sad excuse for a pecker as hard as you can and you fucking run.” _

_ Sansa giggles. _

_ “I’m serious, lass, can you do that?” _

_ Silence. _

_ “If you’re nodding I can’t hear you.” _

_ “I can do that,” she mumbles. _

_ “Good. I’m almost there.” _

_ Another bang, louder than before, sounds, along with an incomprehensible screeching that has Sansa audibly sobbing. _

_ Tormund whips around the block of the courthouse and brakes hard in front of a house with music and teenagers pouring out into the yard. He throws it in park, right in the middle of the street and storms through the crowd. “Where the fuck is she?” He calls as he pushes through the crowd. He gets a few blank stares, but no answers. He lifts the phone again. “Sansa, I’m here. Where are you?” _

_ “Upstairs,” she slurs. _

_ Torumnd bounds up the stairs three at a time and sees the little shit who’d picked Sansa up that afternoon pounding on a door at the end of the hall. He storms up and grabs him by the back of the neck and throws him halfway down the hall. “San, open the door lass, I’m right here.” _

_ He hears a thump on the other side of the door, then Sansa crying. “I can’t stand up.” _

_ Tormund curses. “How close are you to the door?” _

_ “Um… it’s kinda blurry.” _

_ Tormund glares down the hall where the little blond twit is trying to pull himself up off the ground. “Can you drag yourself toward the tub?” _

_ “Okay.” _

_ He hangs the phone up and shoves it in his pocket, counts to three, and kicks the door open. _

_ Sansa is curled up on the floor, and looks up at him, glassy eyed.  _

_ He crouches in front of her. “Ready to get out of here, lass?” _

_ She nods clumsily and holds her arms up to him like a child. _

_ Tormund gently lifts her, one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders. Her arms wrap weakly around his neck and she turns her face into his chest as he carries her down the stairs. He settles her into the passenger seat of Jon’s truck, buckling her in and closing the door before a pair of hands shove him from behind. He barely stumbles before he catches himself on the door and spins to face his attacker. _

_ The twat is drunk enough to think shoving Tormund again is a good idea. _

_ Tormund doesn’t budge, but throws a neat right hook, catching the kid in the nose with a satisfying crunch and sending him sprawling to the ground. Tormund steps forward and crouches next to him. “Now listen here, you little prick, because if I have to tell you this more than once, I’ll break more than your fucking nose. Are you listening?” _

_ He gets a groan in response. _

_ Tormund smiles. “Good. You ever so much as think about Sansa Stark again, and I’ll feed ya to the bears north of the Wall, piece by piece.” Tormund slaps the prick’s cheek a couple times. “We understand each other?” _

_ Another groan. _

_ “Good lad.” _

_ Tormund shoves back upright, gets in the truck, and points toward the hospital. He has Sansa checked into the E.R. before he thinks to call the Stark house. The whole of them descend on the waiting room within half an hour. Once Sansa is in a room, for observation overnight, her parents go in, only for Ned to come briskly back up the hall minutes later. _

_ “Tormund,” the Stark patriarch snaps. _

_ Tormund unfolds himself from the hard plastic chair he’d finally settled in when he stopped pacing. “Sir?” _

_ “Come with me.” _

_ Tormund follows, bewildered, until they reach the room and he hears Sansa crying and asking where he was, why he wasn’t there. He shoved past Ned and knelt by her bedside, grabbing her hand. “I’m right here, lass.” _

_ Sansa blinks at him with still glassy eyes. “He’s going to come after me.” _

_ Tormund squeezes her hand. “He won’t ever come near you again, lass.” _

_ “Stay with me. He’s scared of you,” she grips his hand weakly.  _

_ Tormund drops his head to the side of the bed then stands and gives into the impulse to kiss her forehead. “Not goin’ anywhere, lass. I swear he won’t ever touch you again.” He uses his foot to hook one of the guest chairs and drag it right up next to the bed, sitting down without releasing her hand. _

_ She’s asleep within minutes. _

_ “What happened?” Catelyn asks shakily. _

_ Tormund looks up to see Ned and Catelyn both staring at him in bewilderment. He vaguely registers a police officer behind them. Tormund sighs and glances at the girl in the bed beside him. “Fucking prick took her to a party she didn’t want to go to. Drugged her drink. She called Jon. Jon was in the shitter, so I answered it… didn’t even think about it, just took his keys and went after her. She had locked herself in a bathroom and he was pounding on the fucking door. She couldn’t even fucking stand up, she was so out of it… I kicked the door in and carried her out. Fucking prick tried to attack me when I put her in the truck.” _

_ Catelyn’s eyes are filled with tears. “She has bruises on her arms.” _

_ Tormund looks down, sees the finger marks around her arms, just starting to purple, and curses vehemently. “Should’ve punched the little shit more than once.” _

Sansa’s hero worship level of ardor for Tormund dies within hours of her coming home the next day. He’s still loud, brash, and crass. But Sansa comes to realize he is also kind and loyal. And, with her, unfailingly gentle. Somehow, they become friends.


	3. King's Landing University

Sansa’s freshman year of college is Jon and Tormund’s senior year and she’s more grateful than she’s ever willing to admit that they’re there to show her the ropes of King’s Landing and university. Tormund laughs at the happy yellow Beetle her parents had gifted her for graduation and slings an arm around her shoulder, tells her that he’s still willing to be seen with her, even if she drives a car that he could squash with his foot, because gingers have to stick together. 

Tormund finishes his own degree - a B.S. in Archeology - the end of Sansa’s freshman year. By the end of summer after he graduates, he is already taking the world by storm with his daring expeditions North of the Wall all while quietly and diligently working on a graduate degree in Architecture.

Jon surprises them all by becoming a Ranger with the Watch.

Sansa meets Harry Hardyng halfway through her sophomore year and decides to give dating a try for the first time since Joffrey.

Sansa finishes her Bachelor’s - a B.S. in Westerosi Art History - at the end of her sophomore year thanks to completing her Associate’s in her last couple years of high school. Tormund is seated in the audience beside her family, and looks every bit as proud as the Stark clan.

She spends her celebration dinner that night trying not to show her amusement at Tormund ribbing her boyfriend all night. Harry doesn’t find Tormund appealing on any front, and has been quite vocal about not understanding Sansa’s friendship with him. Sansa never bothers explaining, but lets Tormund see the mirth dancing in her eyes when a particularly lewd comment turns Harry a new shade of red. 

“Still think you’d look good blonde,” Harry mumbles, well on his way to drunk at the bar they’d traipsed to after the elder Starks had called it a night, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

Before she can respond, a hand spins her away from her boyfriend and into a familiar chest.

“How dare you!” Tormund protests, tucking Sansa under his arm neatly. “Blonde! Blasphemy! We are kissed by fire! Blessed by the gods!”

Sansa laughs brightly in response.

She goes to lunch with her family the next day, grateful they’re eating outside and she can hide her hangover behind her sunglasses. Jon and Robb don’t look much better, but Tormund, damn him, is chipper as ever. Harry had declined to join them. They decide to spend the later afternoon hiking a trail outside the city, and Tormund offers to drive her to Harry’s when she realizes she’d left her hiking boots there.

She bounds out of the truck with a smile when he pulls up to the curb in front of the posh apartment building. “Be right back!”

She lets herself in with the key Harry gave her just last month and snags her boots from the front closet before she hears the moans. She frowns and follows the sound to Harry’s open bedroom door, where she finds him on top of some blonde she vaguely remembers seeing somewhere around campus. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Harry yelps and tumbles off the side of the bed.

Sansa would laugh if she wasn’t so pissed.

The blonde makes an undignified squeak and covers as much as she can with a pillow - the blankets and sheets were all on the floor with Harry. “Who’s she?”

“She,” Sansa points to herself, “is the girlfriend. Who the fuck are you?”

“Sansa,” Harry finally manages to stand, sheet clutched around his waist with one hand while he holds the other out placatingly. “I can explain.”

Sansa pulls her phone out and snaps a picture - Harry standing there, obviously begging, and the red-faced blonde barely covering her modesty with the damn pillow - before silently turning and grabbing her suitcase - still there from their spring break trip to Dorne - and collecting the few belongings that had made their way to his apartment over the last few months. She’s tossing the suitcase in the bed of Tormund’s truck by the time Harry manages to stumble out after her in nothing but a pair of boxers. Tormund raises an eyebrow. Sansa silently holds her phone out, the picture she’d snapped on display.

Tormund growls. “Fucker.”

Harry is tapping on Sansa’s window. “Come on, Sansa, talk to me, please.”

Tormund rolls his eyes and cracks the window. “In case the suitcase and the pissed face aren’t clear, she’s done with you, you piece of shit. Fuck off.”

“This is none of your business,” Harry snaps at him.

Sansa stares ahead stonily.

“Back the fuck up or I’ll run over your godsdamn feet,” Tormund warns, shifting the truck into gear.

Harry steps back hastily.

Tormund sticks his hand out the back window and flips him off for a solid block.

They make it three blocks before Sansa bursts into tears.

Tormund deftly pulls to the side of the road and undoes her seatbelt, hefting her across the bench seat and into his arms. She buried her face in his chest until she cries herself out.

“What’s wrong with me, Tor?” She asks into his chest miserably.

“Not a damn thing. You’re fucking perfect.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I!” 

She pulls her head back far enough to glare at him.

“I mean, you were a bit of a prim and proper prude as a teenager, but you’ve mellowed. You’re fucking perfrect, San.”

“Then why can't I get a perfect guy? I’ve had a grand total of two actual relationships. Joffrey beat me and drugged me and Harry cheated on me. What’s wrong with me?”

Tormund gently wipes the tears away from her cheeks. “They’re the problem, not you.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.” She suddenly frowns. “Oh, gods!”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to spend the summer at Winterfell. I can’t! Not now. Everyone’s gonna look at me like… like… ugh! And gods, Harry was perfect! Even my mother adored him, for the gods’ sake! How do I tell them… how can I? Tor, I can’t.”

Tormund shrugs. “So don’t.”

“What else am I going to do?”

He buckles her in, still in the middle of the bench seat, and pulls back onto the road. “You remember that castle we found hiking, way up north, a couple summers ago?”

Sansa smiles absently. “Eastwatch by the Sea.”

“I bought it.”

Sansa whips toward him. “You what?!”

“I’m gonna restore it.”

“Tormund!” Sansa squeals and throws her arms around his middle.

Tormund rests his arm around her shoulders and squeezes back. “Come spend the summer up there with me. You know the history and architecture as well as I do. Jon’ll be there every other week or so. You’ll get to meet my sister Ygritte.”

“Yes! Absolutely, yes!”


	4. Eastwatch by the Sea

Tormund stays an extra day to help Sansa finish packing up her dorm room before they roadtrip North. Jon’s truck is outside the old ramshackle castle when they pull up, next to a motorcycle that’s completely impractical for the far north.

Tormund curses. “Gods, Ygritte’s already here.” He rolls his eyes and grins at Sansa. “They’re either gonna kill each other or fuck like rabbits.”

Sansa doesn’t try to cover the guffaw of laughter at the thought of stoic Jon with Ygritte - Tormund's little sister was just as wild as Tormund - but somehow she thinks it might work.

They check the castle first, but eventually Sansa finds Jon and Ygritte in the barn, Jon’s bare ass and Ygritte’s breasts heaving, in full view of the door, with Jon’s head buried between her legs. Sansa slaps a hand over her eyes and chokes on air. “Gods! I  _ never _ needed to see that!”

Jon yelps and Sansa hears a scuffle.

“His milky ass is covered, princess,” Ygritte chuckles. “You’re lucky he already got me off twice or I might have to shoot you.”

Sansa hesitantly peeks through her fingers and finds Ygritte standing, still nude, but Jon with pants on. She drops her hand and glares at her brother. “I need brain bleach. And possibly therapy.”

“Thought you guys weren’t gonna be here until tomorrow.”

“We drove through the night,” Sansa explains. “Got here early.”

“Obviously,” Jon mutters, face still red.

Tormund lets out a shout behind her. “Why the fuck are your tits out, little sister? I don’t wanna see that shit!”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “Her  _ everything _ is out, and you’re worried about her boobs?”

Tormund shrugs.

“Well, I just saw my cousin’s ass. Because he was fucking your sister in the wide open barn.”

Tormund laughs. “What’d I tell you?”

Sansa rolls her eyes again. “Yeah, yeah.”

It’s not even close to the last time they find Jon and Ygritte in a compromising position over the summer.

Tormund hires an expert to come check and repair the foundation, and there’s two weeks straight where the castle is overrun with Tormund’s Free Folk friends - extra muscle to help place and set the heavy masonry work of the stone walls and the hand hew wooden beams that make up the rafters and other various supports.

The one fully modern concession Tormund makes is a state-of-the-art kitchen.

“Fucker doesn’t even cook,” Ygritte scoffs.

“But Sansa does,” Jon tells her softly.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Jon nods across the room, well on it’s way being a commercial kitchen, where Sansa and Tormund are leaning over a work table, well into each other's space, bickering about some aspect - the shaping of the doorway, Jon thinks.

Ygritte observes them for several silent moments.

Tormund rolls his eyes at something Sansa says and gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear when she raises her head to glare at him.

Ygritte’s jaw drops. “He’s in love with her. How long has he been in love with her?! I didn’t even know my brother could fall in love! Is she why I haven’t heard about his sexcapades from any of the Free Folk women in…” Ygritte’s eyes go wide. “Gods, it’s been  _ years _ since I’ve heard anyone brag about bedding him!”

By the end of the summer, Sansa is utterly amazed at what they’ve accomplished in a mere three months. The castle was a crumbling mess when they started and now it’s walls are rebuilt inside and out. The electricity, plumbing, and kitchen are the only modern concessions. Everything else was rebuilt to the exact standards, as near as they could figure, of the castle in its glory day. The inside is still largely bare.

“How are you going to decorate?” Sansa asks him.

“However you want,” Tormund answers without missing a beat.

Sansa laughs and rests her head against his arm. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Live in it,” he answers matter-of-factly. “Hopefully one day raise a whole passel of fire-haired, blue-eyes whelps.”

Sansa smiles at the mental image of Tormund racing through the meadow behind the castle, chasing a near identical boy and girl, both with his bright shade of red hair and eyes her own shade of blue. She blushes at the thought, and can’t decide if she’s regretful or grateful that she’s returning to school tomorrow to start her graduate studies. Tormund is still the only one who knows about her secondary degree in Architecture - she’d finished the courses remotely over the summer - and she honestly can’t wait to start her Master’s thesis, but life at Eastwatch has been… good.


	5. Homecoming

Tormund finishes his dig a week early and gets the horses he takes when he goes north of the wall situated in the stables he rents from the Watch before loading his finds carefully into the back of his truck. He touches base with the current Commander, then sets off for home. He grins when he notices Jon’s truck in the drive.

Lady woofs softly in greeting.

Tormund scratches her ears. “I was expecting your brother, my Lady.”

Lady gives him the stink eye before shoving past him out the back door.

Tormund frowns and kicks his boots off while shrugging out of his jacket, then goes in search of the wolf’s mistress. Sansa is always welcome; though he’s never said as much aloud, Eastwatch is as much hers as it is his. But she's too polite to ever actually show up without asking first, despite how often he has wished over the years that she would do just that. 

When he realizes Sansa isn't in sight, he makes his way down the hall to her room and gets caught between a grin and groan when he finds her crashed out on top of the bed covers, book in hand, in nothing but a t-shirt and a little pair of black panties. He lets himself look for a second longer before silently backing out of the room and closing the door gently. He pulls his phone out, absently dialing Jon as he makes his way to the kitchen and idly starts pulling open cabinets and the poking around the fridge and freezer.

"'lo?" Jon answers sleepily.

"It's one in the afternoon! The fuck are you doing asleep?" Tormund chides good-naturedly.

Jon mumbles something incomprehensible.

Tormund opens the pantry. "Fine. I don't wanna know. What the fuck happened to San?"

"How is she?" Jon asks, suddenly a lot more alert.

Tormund frowns at the wine rack in the pantry, mentally calculating. "How long has she been here?"

They have a system, Tormund and Jon, for telling Sansa's state of mind, based entirely on her cooking habits and wine consumption.

"She drove up from King’s Landing. Took the long way to avoid Winterfell, so… about two weeks," Jon answers.

Tormund's eyebrows go up. "Unless she looted the wine cellar, not the worst we've seen."

"Yeah?" Jon sounds hopeful.

"Aye. My freezer is full of enough meals to feed a wildling army, my pantry full of bread and sweets, and only half the pantry wine is gone." He steps out of the pantry and opens another cabinet and frowns. "Fuck, she's demolished the coffee stash, though."

Jon sighs, but still offers no explanation.

Tormund puts the phone on speaker and sets it on the counter to start a fresh pot of coffee. "Fuck you, by the way, you small-peckered bastard."

"For what?" Jon asks.

"Not warning me that I might come home to find your cousin napping half naked with her door wide open."

Jon chuckles. "Think she's ever going to realize that's _her_ room and not just a guest room?"

Tormund grunts noncommittally.

Jon heaves an overly dramatic sigh. "Fine. I'm sorry I didn't warn you that I was sending my cousin, heart broken and betrayed _again_ , who you've been half in love with for years, who you constantly wish would just show up on your doorstep, to heal in the one space she feels safe, with the one man who'd rather cut off his own arm than hurt her."

"Not half," Tormund mutters to himself.

"What?"

"Fuck you, Snow."

"That's my job," Ygritte's voice interjects.

"I don't wanna know, little sister," Tormund groans.

"Take care of her," Jon requests solemnly.

"Always," Tormund swears.

The line goes dead.

Sansa wakes to the sound of faint rustling in the kitchen and smiles when she sees Tormund counting wine bottles in the pantry. She and Ygritte have a bet on how long it will take the boys to figure out she's fully aware of their little system. He doesn't notice her in the hall as he switches his phone to speaker and starts a pot of coffee.

Jon doesn't hear Tormund's soft admission of, "Not half," but Sansa does, and she barely manages to bite back a gasp.

Tormund hangs his head as the call ends, shoulders tense, and Sansa contemplates fleeing down the hall before he sees her. She knows she can’t before the thought even fully forms; it’s Tormund. Tormund, who saved her from Joffrey when they didn’t even like each other. Tormund who showed her around campus her freshman year; who she caught making threats that ensured no one messed with her. Tormund, who encouraged her in pursuing a secondary degree, assuring her she could do it, when she was too terrified to tell anyone else. Tormund, who gave her somewhere to hide and heal, something to pour herself into, after Harry; she thinks about the still mostly empty rooms of Eastwatch and remembers a comment from years ago about her decorating however she wanted and realizes he probably hadn’t been joking. She also remembers an unbidden vision of children with his hair and her eyes.

Two mugs clinking on the counter draws her attention back to the present and she looks at Tormund again, watches him make her coffee perfectly, and she makes her decision. She pads into the kitchen quietly, and lifts a hand to rest against the back of his shoulder.

The touch on his shoulder nearly has Tormund leaping out of his skin, and the scent of lemon is the only thing that keeps his instinct to swing in check. He spins quickly, pasting his signature grin on. Sansa frowns up at him, icy eyes shining. His grin and his stomach drop and he closes his eyes. "How much of that did you hear?"

The hand on his shoulder slides down his chest until it rests over his heart while her other hand comes up to rest gently against his jaw. He barely has time to register her breasts brushing against his chest before her lips press to his. He can't help but groan. Both his hands go to her waist and he lifts her easily. Her legs wrap around his waist as he sets her on the counter, keeping her close. She lifts her hands to card into his hair and he angles his head obligingly, deepening the kiss. She doesn't release him when they part for air.

Tormund buries his head in her shoulder. "San…"

She runs her fingers through his wild curls. "I heard enough."

He closes his eyes against the smooth skin of her neck. "If this is just a one time thing or a rebound… I can't, San," he can't bring himself to feel ashamed about the way his voice breaks. "I wouldn't recover from that, love."

Sansa tugs his face out of her neck, kisses him again. "It's been you for a long time now, Tor."

“Then why’d you keep stepping out with all those other fuckers?”

Sansa laughs, the sound a bit brittle, and shrugs. “You’re my cousin’s best friend. I figured it would be too much like dating your best friend’s kid sister. Didn’t think you’d be interested.”

He clutches her tighter to him. “If I would’ve thought I could get away with it without you running scared, I would’ve stolen you the day you started at KLU.”

“Stolen me?”

“Aye, like the Wildling brides of old.”

Sansa laughs, a genuine tinkling sound. “You’re the only one I _wouldn’t_ have run from, Tor.”

He groans into her hair. “She tells me now.”

“Better late than never?” She ventures.

“Aye,” he agrees softly, initiating a kiss for the first time. He sighs when he pulls back. “We have to talk don’t we?”

“Yeah,” she agrees ruefully.

He groans, but steps back and helps her off the counter before turning to grab the coffee mugs, passing hers - a pretty blue thing covered in sunflowers - over and leading her into the living room.

She raises an eyebrow when he sits in one of the armchairs by the fireplace instead of on the couch.

He chuckles. “If I sit on that couch right next to you, we aren’t gonna talk, love.”

Sansa rolls her eyes, but takes the chair across from him.

He closes his eyes. “Ya might have to put pants on too, lass.”

Sansa laughs brightly, but does pull the throw blanket off the back of her chair and tosses it over her legs as she crosses them in the chair.

He opens his eyes.

Sansa takes a sip of her coffee, waiting on him.

“Why’d ya come?” He asks finally, blunt as usual.


	6. Professor

Sansa lets out a shuddering breath. “You remember I told you I was seeing someone?”

“Right after you finished your thesis, before you started your dissertation. Aye.”

Sansa can’t help but smile at his consistent attention to detail when it comes to everything she tells him.

“I remember you bein’ really fucking vague about him.”

Sansa winces and stares into her coffee mug. “He was a professor at KLU. I had him for one of my graduate classes my fourth year. We technically started seeing each other before I finished my dissertation. He… he was so sweet. Attentive. And older. I hadn’t had luck with men my own age, so…”

“How much older?” Tormund asks, honest curiosity in his voice.

Sansa flinches and glances up at him. “He went to highschool with my mother.”

Tormund’s jaw drops. “Fucking Littlefinger… you went out with godsdamned Baelish?!”

Sansa flinches harder.

Tormund sets his coffee aside and moves to kneel in front of her, gently wrapping his hands around hers where they’re wrapped around her own coffee. “San… I’m not mad at you, love. I want to fucking kill him. How long before you realized he was manipulating you?”

Sansa chokes out a sob.

Tormund gently pries her coffee mug out of her hands and lifts her effortlessly, turning and placing himself in her chair before settling her on his lap, arms wrapped tightly around her as he lets her cry it out.

“No one realizes how observant you are, you know,” she mutters against his shoulder once she calms.

He drops a kiss to her hair. “All part of my charm, love.”

Sansa reaches up and plays with the ends of his beard. “About two months ago I went to surprise him for lunch. I got a grant and I wanted to celebrate. He had a graduate student bent over his desk. I just… I ran. Then I thought about all our time together and a lot didn’t add up. I found her later that night… the graduate student. Ros. I had helped her outline her Master’s thesis,” Sansa chuckles, no actual humor in the sound. “As soon as she opened her door… only gods knows what I looked like, but she knew I knew. Baelish had been running a… well, essentially a brothel, using grad students, for years. Ros knew _everything_ and I knew much more than I thought I did. We couldn’t take it to any local law enforcement. Jon helped me get in contact directly with a few federal agents. Ros and I both had to testify. Ros went into witness protection. But me… well, he wouldn’t dare touch me. I liked Ros, but she was a nobody. If he came after me…”

Tormund chuckles. “You’re a fucking Stark. He wouldn’t dare.”

Sansa shrugs. “The trial was very public. I just… I needed to get out of King’s Landing. I haven’t talked to my mother since it all started. She went ballistic when she found out I’d been seeing Petyr. She’s still fuming. Going back to Winterfell would have been just as miserable as staying in King’s Landing.

He squeezes her tightly against his chest. “I’m glad you came here, lass. If I had it my way, you’d be here all the time.”

Sansa smiles and finally looks up at him. “I had a bit of an epiphany earlier.”

“Oh?”

“You were serious when you told me you wanted me to decorate Eastwatch.”

Tormund lets out a booming laugh. “The historical society has been begging me to finish it for years.”

Sansa groans. “Oh gods, I remember when we registered Winterfell. Those people are tenacious. How have you staved them off?”

Tormund shrugs. “I’m a big, crass fucker.”

Sansa giggles.

“Hmm?”

“Is Aunt Lysa still on the board?”

Tormund grins. “Aye. Pretty sure she hates me.”

Sansa shrugs. “Join the club.”

“Now what’s she have to hate a sweet little thing like you for?”

Sansa snorts. “I’m younger, prettier, more accomplished, and Baelish actually gave me the time of day.”

“Your family isn’t going to like seeing you with the likes of me,” Tormund almost whispers, suddenly solemn.

Sansa lifts herself enough to shift so she’s straddling him and cups his cheek. “First of all, Jon loves you. And because Jon loves you, Robb and Theon love you. Arya will just be glad I’m with a real man-”

“What?”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “Her words. She thinks I date too many pretty boys. Now hush and let me finish. Bran is indifferent and Rickon thinks you hung the moon. My father once told me that he wanted someone kind and gentle and brave for me. You are all of those things, Tor. At least to me.”

“And your mother?”

“Lost all say when she thought I should get back with Harry even after knowing he cheated on me.”

“You’re serious.”

Sansa caresses his cheek and meets his eyes. “I am tired of being hurt. I am sick of being second choice. Maybe it’s time to try with someone who I already trust, someone I already love, someone who has put me above _everything_ for as long as I’ve known him.”

Tormund rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. “I… gods, I love you, lass.”

Sansa smiles and closes the space between them.

Tormund is the first one to pull back, burying his face in her hair and panting for breath. “If there’s _any_ part of you that isn’t sure, lass, tell me now, because I am seconds from taking you to my bed and not letting you out of it for the next week.”

Sansa kisses him again. “Take me to bed.”


	7. Rings

“San’s not in her room,” Jon calls down the hall.

“Lady’s in front of the fireplace,” Ygritte calls back, scratching the wolf behind her ears. “So she ain’t outside.”

“Where in the hells…” Jon’s nose scrunches up. “You don’t think she’d be in Tormund’s room do you?”

Ygritte grins and heads down the hall toward her brother’s room. “If she is, he’s with her.”

Jon’s face goes blank. “What?”

Ygritte shrugs. “His truck was in the garage.” Her grin spreads. “Betcha ten bucks if they are both in there, they’re naked.”

Jon groans. “What in the seven hells is wrong with you?”

Ygritte flings the door open and crows triumphantly. “Fucking finally! You owe me ten bucks, Snow!”

“I didn’t take the bet!” Jon protests.

“Come look at this, Jon, they’re fucking adorable.”

Jon reluctantly looks over Ygritte’s head. Tormund is sprawled almost in the middle of his massive four poster bed with his arm tucked around Sansa’s shoulders, who has her face buried in his chest and one arm wrapped loosely around his torso. It _would_ be adorable, if they weren’t so obviously naked. Jon thanks all the gods he can think of that the blankets are covering his cousin’s chest.

As if reading his mind, Sansa lifts her head enough to glare at him through slitted eyes. “I don’t even want to hear it, Jon. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve seen your ass…”

Jon flushes, chagrined. “Right. Er…”

Ygritte rolls her eyes. “Put some duds on so nancy boy can talk to ya without blushin’. I’ll make coffee.”

Tormund shoots out of bed, chasing after her heedless as ever about his lack of clothing. “You stay the fuck away from my kitchen!”

Jon rolls his eyes and turns back toward Sansa, who’s grinning after the Wildling. “Wipe that fucking look off your face.”

Sansa shrugs unrepentantly. “He’s got a nice ass.”

Jon is sure the horrified feeling in his gut shows on his face, because Sansa laughs.

“Don’t be such a prude.”

Jon opens his mouth to protest.

Sansa holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know more than I already do about your sex life, and if you don’t walk away now, I’m getting up while you’re still standing there.”

Jon bails.

Sansa groans and buries her flaming cheeks in the pillow for a brief moment before sliding out of the bed and making her way into the attached bathroom. She pees, then splashes water on her face and brushes her teeth. Tormund comes in behind her, crowding against her back and dropping a kiss to her shoulder, as she's attempting to tame her hair into a bit less of a tangled mess. He takes the brush from her silently and gently combs through the tresses until the tangles quit catching, then deftly braids it and tosses the end over her shoulder for her to tie off.

She turns and kisses him, then scrunches her nose. “You still have morning breath.”

Tormund licks her nose in response.

Sansa squeals and shoves him away. “Gods, you’re an overgrown child.”

Tormund sticks his tongue out as he grabs his toothbrush.

Sansa roots around on the floor until she comes up with yesterday’s underwear, a sports bra, and one of Tormund’s t-shirts. “I’ve gotta go to my room for pants.”

Tormund scoffs as he pulls on his own jeans and drags his eyes up her legs. “Pants are overrated.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “My cousin’s here.”

“Aye, so’s my sister.”

Sansa throws a clean(ish) shirt at his head. “We weren’t all raised by Wildlings, Tor. Clothes are appropriate for company.

Tormund growls and lunges at her, and she laughs and sprints out of the room and down the hall before they end up distracting each other. She grabs the first pair of clean leggings she finds and hops into them on her way back into the living room. Tormund pouts at her.

Sansa laughs and bends over to kiss him. “You can peel me out of them again later.”

Tormund grins, then tugs her into his lap, offering her his coffee cup.

Jon pulls his phone out and starts furiously typing.

“What in the hells are you doing, Snow?” Tormund demands.

“Getting Sam,” Jon mutters.

Sansa frowns. “You know I love Sam, but why?”

“Because,” Jon sets his phone on the coffee table and looks up, “Sam is the only person we know who’s ordained.”

Sansa nearly spews her coffee. “Jon, explain yourself. _Now_.”

Jon shoots a desperate look at Ygritte, who just snickers into her coffee cup.

Sansa continues staring him down. 

Jon huff out a breath. “Okay, so, I, uh…” He groans. “Arya sent me.”

Sansa blinks.

“I’m supposed to bring you home for Sevenmas.”

“ _Arya_ asked you to bring my home for the holidays?”

“She loves you, San,” Jon says softly. “I know you haven’t always gotten along, but… you’re sisters. She’s bringing someone home, and she wants you there. Thinks Cat might not be as awful if you are.”

Sansa’s face softens for a brief moment before she narrows her eyes. “That still doesn’t explain Sam.”

Jon blushes and waves vaguely at her and Tormund. “If you two are going to act like _that_ together, you cannot show up at Catelyn Stark’s house _not_ married.”

Sansa feels her mind go blank. “Fuck.”

Tormund laughs. “It’s fucking adorable when you curse, you know that?”

Jon raises an eyebrow in expression that clearly says, ‘See?’

Sansa looks up at Tormund. “He’s not wrong.”

Tormund kisses her head, then lifts her off his lap and disappears down the hall.

Jon shrugs when she shoots him a bewildered look. Ygritte just smirks. 

Tormund trundles back down the hall and kneels down in front of Sansa, opening his hand to reveal a small velvet box.

Sansa’s eyes go wide.

Tormund smiles softly. “Open it.”

Sansa takes it with shaking hands, and almost drops it when she sees the contents. The sparkling solitaire diamond catches her eyes first, then the intricately crafted band - a direwolf, the snout holding the diamond from one side and the tail from the other - of Valeryian steel, still infinitely more valuable than gold and silver. “Tor…”

He shrugs. “I went back and bought it the next day.”

_The summer between graduating from highschool and starting at KLU, Tormund is the only one willing to traipse through the antique shops in downtown Winter Town with Sansa. The girl’s grown on him, more than he’s willing to admit to anyone, in the last couple years. They go their own way in each store, but he keeps an eye on her, and he can’t help but notice when she’s been staring at one display for several minutes._

_He slink ups behind her and leans right over her shoulder. “What’re ya lookin’ at?”_

_Sansa shrieks and throws an elbow._

_He lets out an ‘oopmh’ when it connects with his stomach._

_Sansa glares at him. “You scared me!”_

_He grins and rubs at his stomach ruefully. “Aye. Caught that.”_

_She winces. “Sorry.”_

_He slings arm around her shoulder. “Eh. Good reflexes.” He eyes the jewelry in the display critically. “Now what little pretty caught your eye?”_

_Sansa blushes, but immediately points out a ring. “If I ever get married, I want that. Not one like it. That.”_

“That was almost seven years ago, Tor,” Sansa breathes out, just above a whisper. “If my wedding band is that one that looks like a bird's wings, the one I pointed after you finished undergrad, you are forever being labeled a romantic sap, and I am not letting you out of bed for at least a week after the holidays.”

Tormund actually blushes and shrugs, but pulls the exact band she’d been thinking of out the pocket of his jeans. “If you would’ve picked someone else, I would’ve given ‘em both to them.”

At a loss for words, Sansa throws her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly and knocking him off balance, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

“That a yes, then?” Tormund asks when they break for air.

Sansa sits up, perching primly on his stomach. “I didn’t hear a question.”

Tormund groans and rests his hands on her hips. “Marry me?”

Sansa beams and nods.

Tormund slides the wolf ring on her finger and the winged band back in his pocket.

“Gods!” Jon exclaims. “Can you two keep it together for an hour? Sam’s on his way.”

Sansa rolls her face toward Jon as Tormund continues kissing her neck. “This is your fault.”

Jon closes his eyes.

Sansa giggles and pushes herself off Tormund. “Ygritte, come help me find a dress.”

Ygritte salutes with her coffee mug and shoves to her feet.

Tormund stands reluctantly. “Oi! Wait… Ygritte, didn’t ya say you were goin’ with Jon for Sevenmas this year?”

Sansa beams and claps. “Finally!”

“Why the fuck do we have to get married if they don’t? Not that I don’t wanna marry you, San, but-”

Sansa pats his chest. “Tor, they’ve been married for years.”

Tormund and Jon’s jaws both drop.

Sansa winks at Tormund. “They got married in Dorne a month after they met.”

Tormund’s blue eyes snap wide as he glares at Jon. “You fucker!”

Sansa wraps her arms around Tormund’s waist. “Jon?”

“San?” Her cousin’s voice comes out strangled.

“You should run before I let him go.”

“Right,” Jon obediently bolts out the back door.

Tormund kisses Sansa briefly before breaking free and tearing after Jon. “That’s my baby sister, you bastard!”

Sansa turns back to Ygritte with a grin.

Ygritte grins back. “I told him you fuckin’ knew.”

Sansa shrugs and starts down the hall to her room. “Arianne Martell is a friend from some of my graduate classes. She recognized Jon.”

Ygritte snorts. “You have friends everywhere, don’t you?”

“Between Arya and I alone, the Starks could probably take over the world,” Sansa confirms.

Ygritte rolls her eyes and disappears into Sansa’s closet.

Sansa looks around her room, then sits heavily on the bed.

Ygritte pokes her head back out at the sound. Her face goes soft at the sight of Sansa’s eyes frantically flicking around the room. “Epiphany?”

Sansa nods, eyes wide. “I think I just realized exactly how much Tormund loves me…” Her eyes flick to the stained glass at the top of her bedroom windows - winter roses, “and for how long he has.”

Ygritte sits down and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I was fourteen when he came home for a week at the end of the summer and mentioned you for the first time. Uncle Mance asked why he gettin’ calls from a fucking Lannister lawyer about assault charges.”

Sansa jerks back. “Joffrey pressed charges?!”

Ygritte shakes her head. “Dropped ‘em when the whole story came out… and the 50 cell phone videos of that little prick shovin’ ‘im into the side of the truck first.”

“He never told me.”

Ygritte shrugs. “He didn’t wanna worry you.”

Sansa lets out something between a laugh and a sob. “Gods… he’s really been looking out for me… forever.”

Ygritte smiles gently. “Aye. He’s the protective type. Wasn’t ‘bout ‘til two years later Uncle Mance and I started takin’ bets on when you’d actually get together, though. I caught ‘im tryin’ to hide that ring.”

Sansa chuckles and wipes her eyes. “Who won?”

Ygritte frowns. “Ya really didn’t get together ‘til he got back from this last trip north?”

Sansa nods. “Right.”

Ygritte’s frown deepens. “Fuckin’ Mance.”

Sansa smiles. “Sorry. I’ll help you rig the next one.”

Ygritte smacks a kiss to her cheek. “Fuckin’ love you. Now,” she bounds back into the closet and comes back out carrying a dress. She unfurls it with a flourish. It’s such a pale blue it’s almost white, with cap sleeves, a scoop neck, and a high-low hemline with hand-stitched winter roses embroidered along the bottom.

“Oh,” Sansa gasps. “I forgot I had that.”

Ygritte smiles. “It’s perfect.”

Sansa nods. “Yeah.”


	8. Sevenmas

Ygritte claps her hands together as Tormund puts his truck in park in front of Winterfell. “Alright. Who’s Cat gonna kill first?”

“Sansa,” Tormund and Jon answer as Sansa says, “Me.”

Ygritte’s eyebrows go up. “Right, then.”

Jon shakes his head ruefully. “Sansa’s her golden child, her perfect little princess.”

Sansa nods. “She would be livid enough if I just got married without telling her.”

“But ya had to top it by marrying a Wildling,” Tormund grins. He leans across the center console to kiss her temple. “I’ll protect you, love.”

Sansa smiles and huffs a breath. “We should leave our bags in the truck until we’re sure she’s not going to kick us all out.”

“Aye,” Jon agrees. “Grab the presents, though.”

Sansa nods. “Grab the presents. Remember, stick together.”

“Right. United front.”

Ygritte giggles. “You sound like we’re goin’ to war.”

Tormund grimaces at her. “You haven’t met Catelyn Stark yet.”

Ygritte bites her lip and spins the simple band on her left hand.

Sansa smiles; it’s a habit she’s noticed the other woman has now that she and Jon aren’t trying to hide their marriage. She glances up when the front door opens and Rickon comes barreling down the steps. She smiles. “The horde descends.” She throws the door open and jumps down just in time for Rickon to barrel into her, happily catching him around the shoulders as his arms clamp around her waist. “Gods, you’ve gotten tall!”

“If you’d come home more, it wouldn’t seem like so much,” her little brother pouts.

Sansa winces guiltily. “Sorry, Rick. I… I couldn’t handle Mom.”

“They made us watch the trial in my Current Events class.” Rickon scrunches his nose. “At least you don’t have to live with her anymore.”

Sansa winces harder. “Right… hey, maybe next break you can come stay with me, hmm?”

“In King’s Landing?”

Sasna shakes her head. “At Eastwatch.”

Rickon’s eyes light up. “With Tormund?”

Sansa winks conspiratorially and nods. “Yeah… can you keep a secret for a few minutes?’

Rickon nods, eyes wide and excited.

Sansa pulls back enough to show him her hand and faux whispers, “I married him.”

Rickon whoops loud enough she has to cover her ears before dashing around the truck to tackle Tormund.

Jon smiles happily, eyes crinkling and all. “You just made his day.”

Sansa shrugs. “You’re gonna make Arya’s when she recognizes Ygritte.”

Jon looks confused. “You think she’s gonna recognize her?”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “She had her poster on the wall of her dorm room.”

Arya’s jeep pulls up behind them and Arya is leaping out before she even kills the engine, barrelling into Jon then spinning into Sansa. “You came!”

Sansa squeezes her shoulders and smiles. “How could I not when you actually asked me to?”

Arya pulls back and shuffles her feet. “Mom’s not gonna like my boyfriend.”

Jon and Sansa both look over her shoulder at the man climbing out of the passenger seat of Arya’s jeep in beat up boots, well worn jeans, and a black and gray flannel.

Sansa’s jaw drops. “Is that-” She looks at Jon. Jon and Sansa nod at each other and both agree, “Arya.”

Arya’s head shoots up defensively. “What?”

Sansa shakes her head and grins. “No. When we pulled up we were trying to decide who Mom was gonna kill first. The general consensus was me.”

Jon grins, and jerks his chin over Arya’s shoulder. “Then you showed up with him.”

“What are you birds yackin’ about?” Ygritte asks, joining them with Tormund and Rickon trailing behind her.

Arya stubbornly grabs the nearest hand of the man with her.

Sansa rolls her eyes and steps forward to hug the new arrival. “Gendry!”

Gendry returns the hug, one armed. “Sansa, good to see you.” He nods to the rest of their little party. “Tormund, Jon, Ygritte.”

Arya’s jaw drops. “You know each other?”

Sansa nods. “Gendry helped us restore the forge at Eastwatch and did most of the metalwork.”

“Thrilled to have you, of course, but don’t you usually spend Sevenmas with your uncles?” Jon asks.

Gendry nods. “Stannis and Melisandre took Shireen to Volantis for the holidays this year. I didn’t want to intrude. Loras is finally taking Renly home. And all seven hells would freeze over before Cersei allowed me in her house.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to be there anyway.” Sansa frowns, then forces a smile. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know how you met Arya, but gods, you’re kind of perfect for her now that I’m thinking about it…”

“Even if Mom hates him?” Arya asks softly.

Sansa shrugs. “Gendry, don’t take it personally. First of all, quite frankly, she’s going to hold your parentage against you. She hates Robert. Second of all, no one is ever going to be good enough for Catelyn Stark’s children.”

“And you’re not gonna be the only shock this year,” Jon adds, reaching over to tuck Ygritte under arm.

Arya’s head snaps up. “What in the seven hells is goi- wait! You’re Ygritte Spearwife! You took the silver in archery at the Olympics last year!”

Ygritte twines her fingers with Jon’s and takes a deep breath. “It’s Ygritte Snow, actually.”

Arya’s jaw drops. “You…”

“Sansa married Tormund,” Rickon blurts.

Arya’s eyes go impossibly wider. “What?!”

“Rickon!” Sansa protests

“What? I thought you just meant not to tell Mom! Arya doesn’t count. Right?”

Sansa laughs and ruffles his hair. “Alright, fair enough.”

Arya glances around their motley crew, then bursts out laughing. “Gods, Mom is gonna murder  _ all _ of us.”

Sansa raises an invisible glass in a mock toast. “Merry Sevenmas.”

Jon nods solemnly. “It was nice knowing you all.”

Sansa claps her hands together loudly. “Alright, everyone grab presents and let’s get inside. It’s freezing out here!”

They’ve barely managed to deposit their hills worth of gifts alongside the veritable mountain already present when Catelyn strides into the room. “Oh! Sansa, Arya! You made it!” Her smile tightens. “Jon,” she nods. Her smile tightens further. “And you brought company.” She looks pointedly at Ygritte. “Sansa, who’s your friend?”

Sansa grits her teeth, then just as pointedly grabs Tormund’s hand. “Mom! You know Tormund.”

Catelyn’s jaw ticks. “Tormund came with you?”

Jon tugs Ygritte over into his side. “She’s here with me, Aunt Catelyn.” He takes a fortifying breath, then tugs Ygritte forward. “May I present my wife, Ygritte?”

Catelyn’s smile freezes into something no longer even remotely pleasant. “Wife?”

Jon nods. “Aye.”

Catelyn’s mouth opens and closes several times.

“Should we make the rest of the introductions while she’s still in shock?” Arya asks idly.

Tormund snorts. “She already knows me.”

“Yeah,” Arya snorts, “but she doesn’t know you’re her son-in-law.”

Catelyn gasps.

Tormund glares at her over Sansa’s head. “You mean like she doesn’t know you’re dating the result of one of Robert Baratheon’s affairs?” He glances at Gendry. “No offense, kid, you know I like you.”

Gendry shrugs.

Catelyn faints.

“Who fell?” Robb’s voice comes from the hall.

“Mom fainted!” Rickon calls back.

Robb and Talisa come running in and Talisa immediately kneels next to her mother-in-law, going into full on nurse mode.

Robb looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “She hasn’t done that since we told her Talisa was pregnant senior year. What in the hells did you do?”

Jon shrugs. “Got married without tellin’ her.”

Robb blinks.

Jon shrugs Ygritte forward. “My wife, Ygritte.”

Robb blinks again.

Talisa looks up with a frown. “Like Tormund’s younger sister?”

Ygritte grins. “Exactly like.”

Robb grins. “Good. Maybe you’ll finally teach the prince of darkness over here to have some fun.”

Sansa snorts. “They’ve been married four and half years. If she hasn’t managed it yet, I think we’re stuck with the brooding.”

Talisa’s eyes go wide. “How long?!”

“Wait. It’s - okay, yeah, this is big, but is it big enough to make Mom full on faint?”

Jon points at Arya and Gendry. “And Arya brought a boyfriend home.”

Robb glances at Gendry, then does a double take. “Holy shit. He looks like…” He trails off.

“Robert Baratheon,” Gendry finishes wryly. “Yeah.”

Robb nods slowly. “Robb. Nice to meet you. Once again, though, not enough to make Mom faint. We always expected her to hate whoever Arya brought home.”

Jon smirks. “Sansa also got married without telling her. To Tormund.”

Robb finally looks at Sansa, shamelessly tucked under Tormund’s chin with her back against his chest and his arms around her shoulders. He shakes his head, then shrugs. “About damn time. Good for you, San.”

Sansa loses a bit of the tension that’s been holding her muscles tightly since they parked.

Tormund kisses the top of her head. “Told ya it’d be alright.”

Sansa leans more heavily against him.

Catelyn starts to stir.

Robb claps. “Well, before Mom comes to and makes this all really fucking tense, congratulations, everyone.”

Sansa smiles gratefully. “Thank you, Robb.”


	9. A Father's Blessing

Ned crosses his arms across his chest and frowns at his children where they're gathered in the living room. "Would anyone care to tell me why your mother is in our room with the lights out and I just paid for a truly astounding amount of Chinese delivery? She's as religious about dinner the night before the holiday as she is about dinner the night of the holiday."

All of them freeze guiltily.

Sansa breaks the silence, faux-swooning dramatically across the couch, landing with her head on Tormund's lap and one arm then across her forehead. "We're all spoiled, ungrateful, hateful children that don't show her the proper respect and she doesn't know which of the gods she angered to deserve it, but she swears to the Seven she'll spend however long she needs to in supplication to get her angels back." Her tone indicates she’s both quoting and mocking her mother, and it’s so out of character for his eldest daughter that it takes a significant amount of self control for Ned not to laugh.

Ned steps into the room and drops into his chair with a groan. A glance around the room shows that Sansa and Talisa have gotten into the wine while the rest of his children (save Bran and Robb, who are both nursing hot ciders) have broken into his liquor cabinet. "Alright, someone pour me something then explain."

Jon dutifully hands him a tumbler.

"So?"

Robb grins. "Remember my senior year of high school?"

Ned raises an eyebrow. "You mean when you brought your girlfriend home and told us she was pregnant?"

Robb nods, any shame over the situation gone years ago. "Yeah. So, no pregnancy," he pauses and glances around the room. "Right?"

He's met with a chorus of, "No!"

Robb snickers. "Just making sure. Basically everyone hooked up, brought said hook-ups home for the holidays, and Mom didn't know any of them even had anyone."

Ned observes the room more carefully. Arya is practically in the lap of a young man who is the spitting image of Robert 25 years ago. Ned cocks his head. "Gendry?"

Gendry nods. "Yes, sir."

"Anything like your father?"

"No, sir."

Ned nods. "Thank the gods. If you ever treat my daughter like your father treats his wife…" he lets the silent threat hang in the air.

"Understood, sir."

Ned smiles. "Welcome to our home. Call me Ned, please." He shifts his gaze to the next couple. Jon is in one corner of the couch with a wild-eyed redhead perched on the arm. "Doesn't Arya have a poster of you on her wall?"

"Dad!" Arya protests, blushing furiously. She's ignored.

"This is Ygritte," Jon offers, "my wife."

Ned's mind goes still for a moment, memories of Lyanna springing to the forefront. He clears his throat and tries to smile to belay the rueful tone, "Sometimes you remind me so much of your mother."

Jon grimaces.

Ned shakes his head. "I don't mean it badly, Jon. Are you happy?"

Jon nods. "Aye."

Ned smiles more genuinely. "Then I am happy for you."

Jon relaxes.

Ned shifts his gaze to the other end of the couch, where Sansa is still sprawled across Tormund's lap while Tormund idly runs a hand through her hair. "And which one of you would care to explain this?"

"Kind and gentle and brave," Sansa says softly, reaching up to pat Tormund's arm.

Ned catches a glint of light and huffs a breath at the sight of the rings on her hand. He meets Tormund's eyes. "Finally asked her, then?"

Sansa shoots upright. "Dad! You knew?!"

Ned smiles softly. "He asked my blessing a number of years ago, on the chance his opportunity ever arose."

Jon rolls his eyes. "No wonder you weren't worried."

Ned grins. "As Sansa said, kind and gentle and brave. I could not have asked for a better man for you, princess."


	10. Epilogue

_Sansa is standing in a second-story hallway, with her arms crossed across her chest, frowning out the window._

_Tormund trundles up and wraps his arms around her shoulders. “What’s the frown for, lass?”_

_Sansa scrunches her nose. “You stink.”_

_Tormund stumbles back, throwing a hand over his heart dramatically. “That’s the smell of hard work, woman! I’m building a home here. Blood, sweat, and tears.”_

_Sansa rolls her eyes but smiles fondly._

_Tormund moves back to her side and elbows her gently. “Really, though, San, what’s wrong?”_

_Sansa sighs. “I hate that wall.”_

_Tormund glances out the window. “The wall?”_

_“Around the courtyard.” Sansa nods. “We don’t live in ancient times anymore, Tor, the wars are over, the Wildlings live among us, and the Walkers are long gone. What’s a stone wall going to protect us from?”_

_“Snow. You know how it snows this far north, San. The whole courtyard would be so packed you wouldn’t be able to get out the back doors after the first snow.”_

_Sansa continues frowning and heaves a sigh. “I know. But the meadow beyond the wall is so lovely.”_

_Sansa has been gone, back to school at the end of summer, for less than an hour when Tormund starts taking the wall down._

_“The fuck are you gonna do about the snow?” Ygritte demands._

_Tormund gestures to the treeline on the far side of the meadow. “Called a landscaping company. Gonna add a whole mess of mature pines to create more of a windblock. And leave a low wall,” he raises his hand about waist height to illustrate, “to keep the worst of the snows back. I’ll shovel the rest every fucking day if I have to.”_

_Ygritte frowns. “Why not just leave the wall?”_

_“Blocks the meadow,” he mutters, chiseling away at the mortar around the next stone._

_“Who the fuck care- oh, gods. Sansa fucking cares. You’re gonna work your hands bloody, literally tear this damn thing down stone by stone, just so the little princess fucking smiles at you. You’re not even getting any and you’re fucking pussy whipped.”_

_Tormund throws a chunk of mortar at her._

_Sansa doesn’t come back until spring break, but when she does… well, his little sister was right. The smile he gets makes every second of the countless hours of backbreaking work worth it._

Sansa will never forget the shock and happiness that coursed through her when she had returned to Eastwatch for the first time to see the massive wall broken down to a sensible barrier. Then Ygritte had told her that Tormund did it himself, by hand, stone by stone; it had taken her several years to admit that the feeling at that revelation had been nothing short of love. She feels a little silly, sometimes, that it had taken her so many years to see how much Tormund loved her.

Now, though, watching him chase their two eldest children across her beloved meadow, she feels the love course through her uninhibited. Gunnor Eddard and Torrell Jon, five years old and carbon copies of each other, remind her ever so often of a vision from so many years ago, that she’d blushed and hidden away at the time, of Tormund chasing a boy and a girl with Tormund’s hair and Sansa’s eyes through the very meadow he chases their sons through now. The boys have Sansa’s darker hair and Tormund’s brighter eyes, though. Minisa Kadis, on the other hand, has Tormund’s bright shade of red hair, and while, at five months, her eyes are still that shade of blue most babies have, Sansa has a suspicion they’ll turn her own cooler blue. Sansa spares a fond glance at Minisa, napping soundly in a bassinet under the shade of an umbrella, before standing and walking over to lean on the wall, closing her eyes and letting the sounds of the ocean and her boys’ laughter wash over her.

She opens her eyes when she feels a huff of warm air across her lips.

Tormund is leaning on the opposite side of the wall, right in her face.

Sansa shakes her head fondly. “Anyone else would think that’s creepy, you know.”

Tormund shrugs. “I don’t care about anyone else.”

Sansa smiles and leans forward enough to brush her lips against his.

“ _Eeew!_ ” Gunnor and Torrell squeal in tandem.

Tormund turns on his heel with a roar, raising his arms in the air. “I’ll kiss my wife if I please, ya little Wildings!”

The boys scream happily and run back into the meadow.

Tormund turns back to Sansa with a wink. “Now, where were we?”

Sansa smiles back and leans in. Their mouths barely ghost together when Minisa lets out a pitiful wail.

Tormund drops his head to the wall with a groan. “I love the little buggers, but if my own children don’t stop cock blocking me…”

Sansa laughs and presses a kiss to the back of his head. “My mother will be here in two days.”

Tormund raises his head with a rueful chuckle. “If anyone had ever told me I’d be grateful to hear Catelyn Stark was going to be living in my house for two fucking weeks…”

Sansa smiles. “I know, love.” She turns back toward Minisa. “The boys are sprinting toward the woods like there are Wights on their tails.”

Tormund curses and takes off across the meadow - the boys know very well they’re not allowed in the woods by themselves.

Sansa scoops Minisa up and rocks her gently and the baby quiets immediately. Tormund comes trundling into the courtyard a moment later with Gunnor tossed over one shoulder and Torrell tucked under the opposite arm. He deposits the giggling boys at Sansa’s feet with a huff, and deftly steals their daughter from her arms before striding inside.

Gunnor rolls over and looks up at her with wide, happy eyes. “Daddy says you’ll tell us a story.”

Sansa raises an eyebrow. “Oh, does he now?”

Torrell nods. “He does.”

Sansa sighs and holds her hands out. “Oh, very well, come along.” The boys let her pull them to their feet and lead them into the house. “Go wash your hands, then come back to the living room.” She pulls her phone from her pocket and snaps a picture when she finds Tormund sprawled across the couch with Minisa snuggled into his chest.

“Don’t you already have a million of those pictures?” Tormund grumbles.

“Yes,” she answers unrepentantly as she settles into the middle of the love seat.

Gunnor and Torrell barrel into the room and leap onto the loveseat on either side of her, immediately snuggling in under her arms.

“Story!” Torrell demands.

Sansa raises an eyebrow.

Torrell blushes. “Story, please?”

Sansa smiles. “Much better.” She drops a kiss to his curls. “Hmm… let’s see…” She glances up and finds Tormund grinning at her, eyes shining, and she can’t help but smile back. “Once upon a time, there was a northern princess and a Wildling warrior…”


End file.
